


Khatun

by afterandalasia



Category: Mulan (1998)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Ancient China, Captivity, Community: disney_kink, F/M, Forced Marriage, Mongolia, Rape/Non-con References, Sexual Violence, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-19
Updated: 2012-10-19
Packaged: 2017-11-18 21:36:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/565547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. When Shan Yu wins, he makes Mulan into his 'empress', just to see her angry.</p><p> </p><p>(Tagged for Underage because Mulan is her canon age of 16.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Khatun

**Author's Note:**

> For anon at the community Disney Kink.
> 
> Can be read with [Hachin](http://archiveofourown.org/works/248545), as a sort of prequel, or independently.

It is the hanfu which she wears that proves to be her undoing. The soldier that she has become is constricted by it, and he is upon her, great hand curling in her hair, dragging her around like that doll from the Pass. He considers slitting her throat there and then, but decides to wait. It does not do to claim every victory in the same night, after all.

 

 

Zhongdu is in flames. Shan Yu stands on the walls of the Forbidden City itself and watches fires lick red into the sky, and smiles. His men have destroyed both the main force of the army and the pitiful excuse for reinforcements that followed them. Most of the Imperial City is already theirs, and after that they will wait and see whether they bother reaching for the rest of the City as well. What is even a dragon without its head?

He considers renaming the city. _Daidu_ has a certain ring to it.

The fragments of the Imperial Army are locked up in basements and cellars that have been pressed into service as prisons. The rice wine taken from them is quickly being depleted, though it is no match for the kumiss of their homeland.

Perhaps night is falling, adding natural darkness to the smoke that stains the sky. It does not matter to China. As he leaves the walls, he uses the butt of his knife to knock away another of the carved stone dragons. It falls away easily, taking with it another fragment of the people’s belief in their mighty Emperor, their mighty Empire. Soon they will realise that it is foolery to believe in it at all.

His _Khatun_ has been placed in one of the palaces, after the pretty pampered concubine who previously lived there had been cast out and left to hide in the gardens. The men will probably find her eventually. For the sake of the Khatun, or perhaps just to anger her further, he has made sure that everything is fairly intact, all gold and pearls and precious gems around her.

As he draws closer, he can hear screaming, shouting, spewing vitriolic Mandarin curses on the terrified maids that try to dress her and the laughing guards that watch. Shan Yu appears in the doorway behind her just as she manages to snatch away from one of them and kick him in the shins, her hair in ragged clumps around her face. Her bruises are fading now, the split of her lip still fresh from the number of times she had torn it open again shouting.

“Stinking whore!” she shouts at the women, then turns to the men and spits in the face of the one nearest her. “And bastard!”

With her free hand she lashes out, and Shan Yu steps in, pinning her arms to her body with one arm, and using the other hand to hold a knife to her throat.

“Now, now, my little _gongzhu_ ,” he breathed into her ear. “Don’t do something either of us would regret.”

“Shan Yu,” she sneers, and he has to admit that he is impressed with her sneering whilst she is in such a position. He lets the point of his knife rest just beneath her chin, pricking to bring a dark red bead of blood to the surface. Still she turns her words on him as well. “My hell take your ancestors to the eighteenth generation.”

Anger flashes through him, but he will not slit her throat, will not kill her yet. They both know it. Instead he throws her to the floor, still holding one arm to drag her shoulder, and kicks her shoulder and back multiple times. She cries out, just once, then bites her lip against doing so again, even when he feels bones crack and pop. Only when her wrist starts to shudder does he release her to the floor, knowing that she will be in too much pain to fight back.

“You forget that I am your Emperor now, Fa Mulan, and you will follow my orders.” He turns to the terrified serving girls. One of them is sobbing helplessly into her knees, and yet these are the most courageous, the only ones that could possibly have lived through these first terrible days of his reign. “You will be present at dinner.”

“Eat shit,” Mulan replies, her voice thickened with pain.

He laughs as he leaves.

 

 

She has been forced into a fine gown by the time that she is presented to him, swirling blue and purple silk with gold embroidery. The white powder on her cheeks cracks when she shouts at him and smears beneath her eyes with the tears that she refuses to acknowledge, but the heart drawn on her lips remains in place.

When a jade hairpin slips from her hair, he reaches over to push it back into place. She snaps, her teeth grazing across his skin, but he draws away too quickly for them to sink in.

“Now, now, Khatun,” he says, wrapping his hand around her chin. So brittle, yet such a warrior. Like a jade dagger. She snarls at him.

He enjoys eating in front of her, watching the slow realisation that she will not eat for as long as she acts like this. Let her feel the bite of hunger and the burn of thirst; perhaps that will calm the storm in her.

 

 

He does not take her straight away, of course. Too many fights all at the same time will wear her out, break her too soon. Let her first learn that she will not be able to wear anything other than the clothes which he gives her; let her learn that she will eat only what he dictates. Let the marks on her skin become bruises, wounds upon her memory and her pride. Then, and only then, he goes to her.

Every night, she has been stripped and tied to her bed. This night, therefore, is no different, and he imagines that she will not think that anything is untoward even as he enters her chambers.

She lies on top of the sheets, her hands tied together and stretched upwards to the headboard, her ankles similarly bound and stretched down. The moonlight coats her body in silver; the weeks have burned the fat from her muscles and bones, leaving her corded and taut and sharp-edged. Bruises mottle her skin, faint in the night, more intense around the shoulder that he dislocated, all the colours of flowers blooming out of her flesh.

The weeks have dulled her soldier instincts, and she does not hear him until he is almost at the bed, already kicking off his boots and unbuckling his heavy belt. As she recognises his silhouette through the filmy gauze curtains, he sees her eyes widen, her struggles begin.

Delicious.

“Son of a dog,” she snarls. “Come closer, that I may slaughter you like one.”

The ropes have rubbed her wrists and ankles raw, and he can see the pain written in her face, but she fights on. Shan Yu pulls off the heavy tunic that he has worn in this southern land, and follows it with the lighter wool shirt underneath. His captive finally seems to realise what he intends, from the way that she fights harder but clasps her thighs tightly together.

The women of his land may lie with whomever they wish, and equally choose not to. Any man attempting to force himself upon a woman would do well to expect her knife in his belly, before his crime was even discovered by others. Perhaps some day, when China has come to appreciate its new rulers, he will extend the same protection to the women of this land.

Of course, the fact that women may lie with whom they wish does not trouble him. After all, for every woman who wants sweet words and tender caresses, they will be another who wants to be taken, fucked, left boneless and sore, who wants to fight for her climax and will revel in her victory over it. In another world, not far different from this one, he rather thinks that Fa Mulan would have made a fine addition to his army.

Instead, he gives an exaggerated sigh. “Now, my Khatun, is that any way to greet me?”

She turns venomous black eyes on him. “Is it not enough to keep me as your slave, that you must now make me your whore as well?”

“Whore?” Laughter bubbles up through him as he loosens the front of his pants to palm his cock, half-hard. “I hope you will not be expecting payment. But I suppose that you do not speak my tongue... to my people, I am Khan and you are Khatun. To yours, I am Emperor... and you are Empress.”

A scream of inarticulate rage bursts from her lips. “Never! I will not be yours!”

In a flash he is upon the bed, one hand tightly gripping her jaw until her teeth are pressed hard together, his fingers making white marks on her skin. He can see in her eyes the fear that she tries to suppress, the surprise at his swift movement, the raging anger that fuels her still. Technically it is true; there has been no marriage ceremony. But she does not know the ways of his people.

“And yet here I am in your bed,” he says. He has lowered his voice, let it become the dull purring sound that sends shivers of fear and arousal down the spines of just the right sort of women, and from the way that Mulan’s eyes widen and she tries to jerk from his grasp, he wonders whether she is one of them. “Is it not the wish of every girl in this rotten land to become the Empress?”

She spits in his face; he backhands her for it, almost casually, not bothering with more force than is necessary to snap her head to the side. Then he sees her go cold, in the set of her jaw and the way that she closes her eyes, in the way that her body goes still and stiff beneath him.

On one hand, it is almost a disappointment. He has been looking forward to seeing what bruises she will leave on his skin, what shape her teeth with make in his flesh. But on the other, it is the boldest fight yet that she has given, and it lets him know that she is not yet broken. That there is more that she can take.

He squirms his hand between her tightly-clamped thighs and lets his fingers explore her, feeling her become wet as he watches the heat that rises in her cheeks and the angry way that her nostrils flare as she strives to control her breathing. He has long since decided that he will see her climax before he takes her, that she will know the control he has over her. So he restrains his instinct to throw her over on the bed and fuck her, and continues the work of his fingers, other hand still slowly working the length of his aching cock.

When she is so wet that he can feel her trembling, he reaches round to undo the ropes that bind her to the edge of the bed. A yelp escapes her, but again she is too surprised to react, and within a breath he has her legs pinned to her chest and is tying her in place, opening her up to him. She squirms, rocking with the struggles, but can do nothing as he slides his hands over the curve of her ass to her exposed cunt, flushed and glistening, framed between her thighs. He peels her legs apart as best he can, giving himself at least a little space, and leans in to let his hot breath roll over her skin.

She shudders, her muscles clenching as she tries to hold her composure against arousal and horror. Then he lowers his mouth, tasting her, and the way that her thighs shift tells him that she has never felt this before, never had a man between her legs, perhaps never even known of the nub which his tongue now finds and runs roughly over, sending spikes of pleasure through her.

The things that he could say roll through his head – how much she likes this feeling, how her body betrays her, how she could enjoy this when it is him doing it – but he holds his tongue. His words would give her something to latch on to, to hate, and he wants her unable to detach from her body as he pleasures her, fingers spreading her lips so that his tongue can do its work more easily. It is not long before she fights for breath, the pounding of her heart tangible in her cunt, and it is then that he rears up over her so that he can see her face, eyes screwed shut, brow furrowed as the pleasure in her body meets with the pain in her head.

“Now,” he says, one word that makes her look round and meet his gaze, as he slips one finger into her and feels her body crash over into climax.

For a moment her eyes are wide with horror before they roll back, her back arching, as he pumps into her still to make her ride it out, her body straining against its bonds and her teeth sinking into her lip as she tries desperately not to cry out. A little bead of blood forms there, and it takes determination not to lean down and lick it away.

Instead, even as the aftershocks are still shaking her, he guides himself in, feeling her tight walls trembling, stretching to take him as her shins press against his chest and the muscles of her body twitch and fight. He is almost surprised that she can, virgin as he expects she is, but her body is still at its softest and as the last of her climax shudders out she seems to constrict around him, moulding them together, and her eyes open in horror as she realises it.

He smiles, slow and venomous, as he begins to thrust into her. With one hand he braces himself against the bed, the other holding her legs in place, and pinned down she cannot move. She could look away, of course, but her gaze never leaves his, furious and still, still full of fire and unbroken. Next time she will know what is coming, and she will fight, and that he will enjoy far more, but still he takes pleasure as she fits perfectly around him, like he is moulding her body for him and him alone. Hot flesh envelopes him as he thrusts deep, tight and made tighter still by the position of her legs, her own fluids easing his cock’s passage into her. Despite his desires he begins slowly, savouring the feel of her as she stretches, the way that she tries to draw away against his grip, how her body accepts him as her mind rebels.

Of course, he cannot long bear to remain slow, and his pace builds within her, faster and harder, until he pants and she bucks with each thrust and each slamming together of their bodies, and again her eyes close as pain stabs through her, and even if she does not look at her bruises the next day she will feel this ache deep inside her. With this she will become his; it is that knowledge as much as the feel of her that tips him over the edge, pinning their bodies together as he comes deep inside her, mingling them until they cannot be divided.

She does not say a word as he rises, wipes himself off, and retrieves his clothes. He returns her legs to their stretched-out position, though not before he sees the seeping fluids on her thighs and knows that she will not sleep tonight for the feel of them, the reminder of what he has done. What they have done.

“I will kill you,” she says, just as he is about to leave. “Soon, I will kill you.”

Though she cannot see it, he smiles wolfishly. If there was anyone in this land who could have killed him, it would have been her. “We shall see, my Khatun. Kill me or grant me immortality from your womb, or perhaps even both.” Even from where he stands, he can see the shudder that runs through her at the thought of bearing his child, and though he said the words on a whim he has to admit that any child sired upon her would be a fine one indeed. “Either way, your destiny is now with me.”


End file.
